It's all an act
by dreamergirl090
Summary: Post-Reichenbach. Sherlock's always trusted Molly. Trusted her to keep his secret.  Note: There is just one bad word in here.


I've just hooked on Sherlock. Love the fandom. Sherlock has reinvigorated my need for fanfiction epsecially after Reichenbach. This one shot is all about Sherlock rooming with Molly before he leaves for his journey.

Heads up one: I think one bad word, but Molly is angry.

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

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><p>The first time they get coffee, Molly is thrilled to see John Watson out of 221B Baker Street, but at the same time she knows it's all an act just like the it's all an act for her believing Sherlock is dead.<p>

As coffee with John becomes part of her routine, she wants to tell John each and every time they sit and sip their coffee, the truth. When John asks how her day was, she wants to tell him how her annoying new flatmate has eaten all the blue froot loops out of the box. When John stirs his coffee counter clockwise, she's desperate to tell him how her flatmate is dying for her to fetch a violin for him. When John stirs his coffee clockwise, all she wants to do is cry. She wants to cry because she can't ask for advice from the one man that has lived with her flatmate. She wants to cry because she can't tell him. In the end John has changed. He is not the man she knew anymore. He's tired, old and faking a smile the whole time.

Each time they meet, she gets closer to letting him in on her secret, how he should come over and meet her bored flatmate. She can't however bring herself to do it because next to John, see can see the shadow of Sherlock with that one penetrating look, gently shaking his finger. The finger says it all. "You can't ever tell him. Not now. Not ever." So instead of telling, she smiles a fake a smile which hurts even more. Now she's changed too.

When she's home she sits on the edge of her bed, reasoning with the shadow pacing her floor.

"You know I'm not like you. I'm not quick or brilliant with that stupid shit you always know about people. I'm just not, but," she points to the man that belongs to the shadow. " I can you tell you this much… he hurts."

"You don't have to tell me this, Molly. I know." He rolls his eyes at this obvious answer. Molly has helped him so much, but he can't help it when she says dumb things like this.

"Sherlock Holmes, you listen to me." He can hear her voice getting to that high level he heard the other day when he turned on all the burners to the stove. "I know you know because of course you know!" He continues to pace because he doesn't want to see her. He can detect notes of tears coming, but the anger still remains in her voice. Molly is a bit frightening to say the least when she is angry, but after all she is a woman and women do get bloody emotional. "I don't care you know. I need to tell someone. He limps again, he carries around that stupid cane. Did you know that?" Sherlock stops mid-pace. This is semi- news because yes, he knew the limp would return, but at the same time he doesn't follow John every single second of his day. He just can't. It makes him anxious to see John being ghostly around town with those horrid jumpers he still wears. He looks at Molly who hasn't stopped talking even though he knows he has zoned out for a couple seconds. "When he ran with you, he knew he didn't have to hold on to that dumb crutch,"

"Well, yes because it's psychosomatic."

"Sherlock, shut up!" She paused. Sherlock could see her taking those deep yoga breaths she professed to be so good at. Slowly, he can see her calming down and ready to talk again. He's glad because he was getting bored. "Because without you…. he's broken again. So broken. He meets for coffee out of kindness, but he doesn't speak. He doesn't want to."

"Remember when I told you about that look you share with my dad? Well he has it too now. Each time he looks to the door when it jingles open. Each time he doesn't meet my eyes, but I can see it when he talks to the waitress. I can't keep meeting him and not tell him. It kills me each time. I promised I would help you, but when will you come back? He needs you…. I know I need you, but I can get by. Maybe because I know your secret, but how many more times will you watch him put flowers on your grave or order two cups of coffee for a non-existent flatmate?"

All Sherlock says in reply as to be an absolution for all three of them is this: "I'm leaving tomorrow. I don't know when I'll be back so you can be like John. You don't have to lie anymore. You can believe I'm dead."

When Sherlock leaves the room, Molly immediately calls John, holding back tears.

"How about something a little stronger than coffee?"

On the other line, John is shocked, but doesn't say no. He questions the late call and is now concerned. He has few friends left, he doesn't want to lose another. "Is it about that new flatmate you've been speaking about? I can come over." His voice sounds gruff like he is trying to take charge, but at the same time it sounds odd, out of practice.

Molly laughs now. "It's okay. My flatmate is leaving. They found somewhere else to stay."

John is still concerned. "Why would anyone ever leave Molly Hooper?"

"They think I've been too obsessive about of our friend. They believed he was a fraud." She knows Sherlock hears her. He doesn't come in, but this is what he needs. This is what Molly needs. This is what John needs.

By the time Molly sets a time up with John and checks for her flatmate, he has already left. His scarf sits on her table chair, the last piece of Sherlock. There's a note resting on the kitchen table. Just a post-it note with three words. **You still count. -SH**

This time she really cries because she doesn't want to become John. She doesn't want that look that her father, Sherlock and now John have all acquired. It's no longer an act, Sherlock is dead.


End file.
